when you left to join

the anarchists in a secret

underground network I thought

I’d never hear from you again.

Then you sent me a letter.

I didn’t know your address, couldn’t write

back. I thought you had walked

for days through the muddy

land, through tunnels in the earth.

Then you came to see me.

In rags. I was useful, I was

of help, I could give something to you.

Things and advice.

You looked at me like you were

grateful for my existence.

Like you knew me.

And you showed me your

hide-out, the abandoned house

your group secretly occupied.

I accompanied you, but

the people bothered me. I didn’t

like one of them, and neither did you.

If it had been all about

resistance in the beginning, it was

about something else now.

I recognized you as the only one

true to the idea. You needed

to get out of there.

You needed my help.

You looked at me like that again.